The Lie
by Appuru
Summary: Eleven years ago, Sasuke had decided he would make himself a Perfect World... [SasuNaru. AUish.]


Quick fic. Recovered from LJ and re-posted her. _Do not own Naruto_. Boyxboy, OOC, AUish. You are warned.

* * *

**The Lie**  
_sinful serenity_

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Eleven years ago, Sasuke had decided he would make himself a Perfect World, one that nobody could touch except him and maybe a few special people like mother or Itachi. In this Perfect World, the Uchiha clan wouldn't be so uptight. They'd allow the children to be something _other_ then shinobi and assassins and other bloody occupations. They'd sit around one big table and chat obliviously together while they ate normal people-food (none of this elegant "gourmet" crap imported from Wave country, thank you very much). In this Perfect World, Sasuke had thought, he and Itachi could go out to summer festivals or play in the mud and dance in the rain, or wish on fireflies and stars that didn't keep falling. You see, in this world, when the clan elders had said _You can do anything,_ they would have meant it.

In this perfect place, Sasuke would go to the academy and maybe he wouldn't be the best because he wouldn't need to be, because the Uchiha clan would be less uptight, remember? He'd sit in the back and switch between listening to Iruka-sensei talk and staring out the window, and maybe he wouldn't need to flick back the little paper balls that blonde kid with scars on his cheeks shot at him. Maybe that Naruto kid wouldn't hate him because he wouldn't be the best. The Sakura girl and her not-Naruto-blonde friend wouldn't like him so much, so he wouldn't have to deal with them and he could just be friends with Naruto, maybe.

Eight-years-old and he knew exactly how life should be. Sasuke closed his notebook he'd been doodling in--the secret one nobody saw, not even Itachi--and hid it under the loose floorboard under his futon.

One day, he wouldn't need to hide it, because his perfect world would be real. Just wait and see.

* * *

Seven years ago, Sasuke had another vision of a perfect world (because the one under his bed had been ripped to many, many pieces): one where he was always either by himself or by That One Person. Itachi would have ceased to exist, preferably by his hands, and he would be completely free from oppressing fathers and too-gentle mothers and liar, liar, liars who slew his not-family. In this vision, he lived alone on whatever he could remember to cook when he wasn't too tired or sore or bleeding too much. He would live in a haze of quiet tranquility, monotonous days bleeding into the next, broken up by an occasional mission.

In this vision, there were only four people who would pose any significance in his life. In this Perfect vision, they would be:

Uchiha Itachi, who he would kill. Definitely. At any cost, and as soon as possible.

Hatake Kakashi, who gave him a sort of means to come closer to his first goal.

Haruno Sakura, who, annoying as she was, was a partner who had survived, and that meant something.

_Uzumaki Naruto,_ almost the most important of them all. Naruto, who guaged his strength and distracted him, who gave him fleeting reminders of that once-Perfect World, who showed that somehow that Perfect Dream would be a reality, maybe, someday. Who was somehow his best friend even in his Not-So-Perfect-World.

Uzumaki Naruto, who had somehow meant more to him then the whole lot of Uchihas had, who had been worth more then the Dream under his tiny Uchiha bed.

Uzumaki Naruto who reminded him he wasn't strong enough yet but he would be, mind you, and it wasn't anybody's business if _needed_ him, alright? Nobody's business that Uchiha Sasuke wanted to kill him fight him kiss him crush him _love_ him. Nobody's business except him and That One Person with sky-eyes and sun-hair and jesus christ, he was waxing poetic, wasn't he?

Not that it mattered. Uchiha Sasuke is safe in his mind, where his d-level-mission-world is still just a little tiny bit Perfect.

* * *

Three years ago, Sasuke's heart and body and mind and soul had too many thoughts and wishes and dreams and sort-of hopes that they simply could not hold them in, and he had tried vainly to reign them into some semblance of control, because it was all too confusing and downright _stupid _and not right at all, despite what that irritable voice in the back of his mind shoutedwhisperedscreamed. They were all deviating, he knew, away from his Perfect Idea to thousands of Perfect Ideas all their own and _definitely_ not his, you see, because Uchiha Sasuke's idea of a Perfect World when he was Sixteen and Immortal definitely should not have been screwing Uzumaki Naruto senseless.

When he was Sixteen and invincible, every part of him wanted Something Else: his heart beated frenetically towards a thousand different goals and his body insisted on growing and paying pointed attention to a certain That One Person, and his mind had tried futilely to remind him _Itachi Itachi Itachi, _and his soul was just lost in the whole mess and he'd wished he could just school everything back under the bed and back into what he knew was Good and Right and Real.

Real was not yanking one Uzumaki Naruto by the ties of his headband back so he could kiss him, hot and bruising and hard and fast, and Right was definitely not the thrill in his lower body when he'd thrown him into the river after a particularly vicious fight, and Good was certainly not this horrible fixation he'd never imagined he would wish but had anyway and the way his mind kept blurring blood-red eyes to shades of cerulean blue. This is definitely not Uchiha Sasuke's world anymore because it didn't make any sense, but _fuck_ it felt good, so why not go for the ride? Itachi could wait, maybe, or at least until this night was over and he was up next morning and he would go after taking a shower to wash off the dried c--

In a way, his least perfect vision--his own "immoral" ventures--were the most perfect of every recurring Dream at night, and the Monsters Under his Bed stayed firmly down there when the headboard was banging into the wall, and he couldn't here the cries _revenge revenge revenge _when Naruto hissed, low and frustrated when Sasuke teased him, and Sasuke forgot his silly eight-year-old Ideals and Distant Hopes because he already had a perfect world under him, cursing loudly and threatening to kill him unless he gave him _more._

So Sasuke gave, and he got back, and he was somewhere he could almost call _content_ even if it was a one-night-one-day thing every once in awhile when they weren't busy being rivals and enemies and betrayers and hurting inside, deep down where nobody saw.

The next time Uchiha Sasuke came "home" to Sound, he came with Mangêkyō eyes and blood crusting under his nails.

* * *

These are the not-truths Uchiha Sasuke has come to know:

_Love conquers all!_  
(and he is staring at the blood on his hands and he cannot tell if it is itachi's blood from itachi's corpse at his feet or if it is old dried stains crimson-brown in hue because it is so very old from so very long ago from so very many countless faces he has slain, and from these faces a pair of sky-eyes stare and mock and taunt him because he was never strong enough to know what _real strength_ was and in the end he killed everyone he loved the most)

_No matter how dark a heart, there is always hope—_  
(and now he is a voiceless whisper in the back of his mind and even though Orochimaru isn't there yet he knows he is slowly dying inside as bit by bit the things that make him Sasuke are slowly draining out and filled in with countless suffocating particles of Orochimaru's filthy chakra)

_You control your destiny_...  
(and it is sad how fatalistic he sounds when he once surrounded himself with people so full of hope, and he cannot force himself to care any longer because he's dead he's dead he's _dead,_ and he _killed_ him killed _them,_ the only ones he would ever love and)

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You couldn't make your vision real and your Perfect World you stowed away will be only that—a Dream Under the Bed—and in the end it means nothing because you couldn't kill him, because he lives on in your mind and body and heart and soul and you traded the life of That One Person who actually did mean something, and you destroyed your Perfect World, and in the end you're as insincere as always, and That One simple Truth...

(you know, you can do_ anything) _

...will always be your greatest lie.


End file.
